


A Star To Rise

by AngelaEvil



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Angels, Child Abuse, Creepy Fluff, Female Frisk, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humans are jerks, I'm just sick of my writing software fighting me on a genderless frisk, NGH, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pantheon - Freeform, Redemption, Religious Conflict, godstale by Dixiecz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaEvil/pseuds/AngelaEvil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Godstale AU by Dixiecz (http://dixiecz.deviantart.com/) and with her as story editor.</p>
<p>Long, long ago, Humans were angelic beings that lived alongside the gods in high heaven. Though no one is sure how, humans fell from grace and now live on the earth. The gods helped the humans to survive and in turn the fallen being worshiped the gods who showed them such mercy. It was a tenuous peace at best. With the murder of the god prince Asriel that peace was irrevocably shattered. In the aftermath of the Holy War, gods departed from mankind all together, letting man live in the squalor he'd dug himself into.<br/>Asriel's power had not vanished from the realm of man, but was reborn in a child destined to end the war and bring lasting peace back to the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [GodsTale AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/207250) by Dixicz (Sky). 



> Here is the original source (http://dixiecz.deviantart.com/journal/GodsTale-a-new-AU-606407136)   
> Sans and Paps won't be touched design wise, but I'll be working through my own concepts for the gods. I'll link a picture at the end of a chapter whenever it is done just to be sure my descriptions are clear.

Prologue: The Holy War  

 “Long in the days before the Rose-clad empire, in a land not very far east of here, lived a tribe of humans beloved by the gods. While the gods showered their favor in every corner of the earth, nowhere was quite so dense in blessings than the land by the gods’ mountain, Ebott. It was said that if a human could treck onto the sacred mountain with little else but the clothes on their back, and a pure heart; if that human could earn the blessing of each god they passed to the summit, they would have the doors to heaven opened to them as an angel.

    “Now climbing the mountain is not the only path to heaven, children. Do not be alarmed. But, it was the only path to restore a human to what they once were, an angelic being free from strife and sin.

    “For a while, humans tried and failed to ascend the steps, to earn holy favor and be borne up into the sky on wings of light... It does sound rather silly doesn’t it. A human flying like a bird. And that, my children, is just how the grown ones felt, flinging themselves against an impossible task for an uncertain future that didn’t seem much better than getting there the long way round.

    “Humans began to despair, began to loath the gods they worshiped as ineffectual and inept. But the gods knew of the fickle human heart that could forget so easily what they had done for them out of love. Asriel, god of Hope, descended from the mountain and went out amongst the people, blessing them however he could.

    “The people flocked to the god in their midst, desperately wanting to feel hope. When a god condescends to their people, the people have no need for intermediaries anymore. Their problems could be taken directly to their gods’ feet. There were many humans that despised the gods still, even more so now that one had dared show himself. The Priests who had once be sacred guardians of the gods’ temples turned into this hatred as well.

    “It did not take long, three days time, for the people to gather a feast in the god’s honor. The priest and chief guards devised a plan to murder the god, for if a man could kill a god why would they ever deign to worship one. As the celebrations came to a climax- maidens and priestesses dancing around the fire, music of all sorts, food and drink of the highest quality- the High Priest of Asriel’s own temple, a descendant of a man the god himself had appointed, blessed a cup of wine and gave it to his lord. Asriel drank of it in trust. It was poison.

    “Now the poison could not kill the god, but it made him ill. Weak. And in that moment, the Captain of the city Guard ran the deity through the back with a cursed dagger. Asriel was nearly slain. His blood spilled out onto the earth and she cried out in pain for him. The drunken revelers did not notice the Earth shaking in mourning for the dying god, and Asriel was too weak to cry out for aid. He was proclaimed by the high Priest to be very drunk and was escorted -and by that I mean dragged- away to a secluded place.

    “The humans performed perverse rights of sealing on the perishing god and the guard Captain, whose knife had tased holy flesh, along with the six other present, drank the god’s blood to gain Asriel’s power. It did not work however. Those humans who were only partakers in the act felt deep shame in their soul at what they had done and died immediately. The Captain was cursed for what he had wrought.

    “With Asriel’s dying breath, he laid the only punishment befitting the crime that he could enact; refusal. The Hope god would not give his power to the man. It would carry in his blood until  a soul worthy of it was born. The Guard would never find the peace of death until that day.

    “This was not the end however. Even as Asriel's body crumbled into dust, his noble soul shattered into nothingness. Every god above the heavens and below felt his loss as if it were their own, for it very nearly was. The gods live off hope, and for Hope itself to be slain...

    “Asgore, god-king and father of Hope, flew into a rage at his son’s death. He brought down his full wrath on man. But man did not shirk from the gods, they grew emboldened by Asriel’s death. Heavenly creatures can be slain. Mankind delved deeper into their wickedness and did not repent. There was war.

“After ten human generations of fighting Asgore’s anger burned still, but it was tempered by the deaths of many divines. He did not end the war, it still yet rages in the hearts of every creature, man and god. The holy creatures have withdrawn from us here; they do not answer our prayers, their hearts turn away from ours. Our ancestors turned from the gods, so why should they listen to the weeping children. Many do not think Asriel anything but a fool of a god, if even that. We have forgotten their faces, the sound of their voices no longer sooths our hearts. So remember children, remember the War that turned god against man and the child of Asriel who will bridge the gap; the child with the soul of Hope that will prove to the gods there is good still in us. That there is something that should be saved.”


	2. Never, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the quest begin!

   

    Deep in the foothills of Ebott rests a village of the same name. This village is blanketed by a dense forest and no matter how far you go from this forgettable hamlet the woods are littered with old stone. Not that old stone is at all very impressive; no. What is impressive, in Frisk’s mind, is how these slabs fitted together, interlocking at perfect right angles disrupted only by the occasional tree root. It was for all intents and purposes a road leading right up the mountain's back. Sometimes Frisk could even pick out the foundation of a building or two.

    She liked the woods a great deal. It was quiet, peaceful, soothing. Being around other humans was absolutely exhausting. They didn’t allow her in any of the many houses, she was not permitted to eat with them, and under no circumstances was she to speak. Her bloodline is cursed, they would say. “Oh no, here comes that demon,” or “Don’t make eye contact or you’ll die,” accompanied her wherever she went, but not here. Here the birds did not care if she sang with them. Here the deer would lift their heads and watch her as she passed. Here no one spat on her.

    Here she never had to cry. But she could weep if her soul was deeply troubled. Here she could pray, off load all her worries to the stones beneath her feet; to the trees that formed neat rows at her passing; to the flowers that seemed to reach after her, brightening their dandy shades in greeting.

    Frisk jogged on, the light cloth shoes doing very little to protect her feet from any sharp sticks or fallen brambles. The loose fit of her tunic flapped against her shoulders and legs as she hastened through the undergrowth. She scooped up a small stick as she passed and tapped it against the trees, stirring up the residence. Soon Frisk was leading a small army of woodland creatures as she raced on.

    Her feet carried her swiftly, and for just a moment Frisk felt that she could fly. She whooped in laughter and collapsed in a meadow. Her meadow. The retaining wall of an ancient courtyard rose just high enough that her garden was private from any passers by, not that anyone but she braved the shadowy mountain. If she was already cursed then why worry about it.

    The animals that pursued her all took up various position in the meadow, keeping some small distance from her. She did not mind their quiet companionship came with such a clause. Rather, Frisk was overjoyed that there was even one living thing in this world that would not despise her.

    As Frisk contemplated the clouds, laying back on the soft greenery and golden flowers, a hawk circled above. His feathers looked to be tawny and gold, almost aglow in the sunlight. Strange, she thought. Frisk recognized all the creatures of the wood but had never seen this raptor before. It dove for her, snapping its wings open and flapping there; suspended with a cry until she offered her arm as a perch. His dark talons bit into her flesh and she hissed slightly, but did not drive the bird away.

    “Hello, friend.”

    It ruffled up its feathers, tilting and bobbing in a warm greeting.

    Frisk laughed at the blue-eyed bird, humming a song that she couldn’t quite remember. It was an old tune, that was sure. One of the archaic languages. She’d heard it while ghosting through the village late at night. A mother was singing to her child and Frisk stopped to listen at the open window.

    The hawk clicked at her and she smiled gently back. “It’s a lullaby. I don’t know why it just came to mind.”

    He flapped his wings adamantly, actually lifting Frisk halfway of the ground with his powerful strokes. Though he didn’t let her go.

    Frisk jumped to her feet and the hawk pointed toward the back of the courtyard with his beak. “Now what does a wall have to do with anything.”

    It squaked at her in earnest and she decided to humor the bird.

    Vines covered most of the brick work though Frisk could just make out something underneath. “Weird....” She yanked at the greenery with her free hand, some of the squirrels, robins, and other such small things eagerly jumped in to help. It was a funny sight really. A bushy tailed rodent plucks off a leaf and passes it down a line of robins. With the extra aide, Frisk cleared a large swath in no time.

    There was an old torch sconce jutting out of the wall that she hadn’t seen beneath the centuries of plant life. The Hawk leapt from her arm onto the metal and it shifted down sharply. A groaning rumble reverberated through her chest as the grassy floor beneath her feet shifted and dropped inward. Frisk did not have a graceful landing; she peeled herself off a dust stone floor, some ten feet down from where she had just been standing, rubbing her tailbone.

    “You couldn’t have given me warning?”

    An apologetic squawk, that did not sound quite so sincere, echoed down to her.

    “Fine, well... just find a way to help me climb back up alright?”

    Another squawk and the hawk launched into the air, followed by a few ravens and a handful of roused owls.

    Frisk traced her gaze over innumerable ruins and defaced reliefs. Wherever she was, it would get her in big trouble with the village. She swallowed down the rising panic and began wandering around the subterranean chapel. Scattered over the floor at the far end were tiny turquoise and sapphire shards of something, each almost perfectly round and completely free of any dust. It was odd and kept catching Frisk’s eye.

    She looked down at the long hanging front to her tunic and pulled the maroon fabric into something like a basket. Plucking each piece and gathering them in the front of her dress, Frisk soon discovered a length of gold wire and put that too in the pile.

    The birds weren’t back yet, so she had time to gaze at each damaged stone picture in greater detail. They seemed to be telling a story but Frisk couldn’t read the language even when the plates weren’t that destroyed. So, she made another round on the pictures, absorbing the life-like nature of animals and plants depicted on each tablet. Honestly it wouldn’t surprise her if they just leapt off the wall as she passed.

    There was a pedestal that looked like an old tree stump. It slouched mostly untouched but had been in the largest mass of shattered pieces. Maybe they had come from something placed there long ago. That was not the most mind boggling discovery at the moment. Frisk looked at the ceiling and there, in well preserved paint, was a winged goat-like creature. A golden hawk perched on his shoulders and a meadow of yellow flowers at his feet. He was dressed in shade of sapphire and gold with turquoise inlaid bangles clasped on his wrists and forearms. Two sharp, but not quite intimidating horns curled up from the crown of his head and a halo glow surrounded him.

    It was truly magnificent how his eyes danced with light that shouldn’t be present in painted stone. Even if Frisk couldn’t understand the beauty of who she was seeing, she could fully sense the beauty of the painting itself. Masterfull, almost magical.

    She stared, mouth agape for a long time, just in utter awe before a loud squawk drew her out of revery. The golden hawk stood on the pedestal next to her, tilting his head left and right. Frisk studied the hawk right back, turning just enough to see the large log they had somehow procured... H-How did they- nope, she wasn’t going to dwell on that, It would be easy enough to climb; that’s all that mattered.

    Frisk stuffed the end of her tunic between her teeth and carefully hoisted herself up into daylight... er starlight. How long had she been down there? She shook her head and plopped down amongst the flowers. What did it matter how long she was gone for, not that anyone really cared right? She got to work carefully treating the gold wire and winding it around the shiny stones she picked up earlier. It shimmered lightly in the moon’s glow, almost like it was melting together into something thinker an- ... That was exactly what is was doing. Every time Frisk wrapped the gold, the metal melted and fused to the back of the stone and soon Frisk was staring at a gold necklace of immeasurable worth. The stones in her fingers pulsed and hummed with magic and Frisk felt that warning burn in her eyes.

    She was weeping for she knew what the necklace meant. Magic was not something humans possessed or even had access to. It didn’t exist outside of stories of the gods and the War and the world before. Yet here, in her tiny hand, was magic. It didn’t matter that it was minimal, what mattered was that she had magic in her hands.

    “Y-you are real.” Frisk shot to her feet and fought down the scream of excitement. “You are real!” She roared at the sky, holding the necklace aloft in triumph. “I knew it. I knew that there was more than this! The gods exist! They were here, and I have proof!” Tears sprung from her eyes as joy overtook her. “I knew I’m not a demon...” Her wings, two long appendages of light stretched into the air above her, bent and fractured, but there. Her knees gave out as the relief swept through her. This was the greatest gift she could have received. A home, or the promise of one. “Thank you,” Frisk squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head to the jewels in her hands. “Thank you.”

    The gods could not be thanked enough for this. Frisk slipped the necklace she crafted on, admiring the way it glimmered and shone. The light faded from it slowly until it was just a normal... professionally crafted piece of jewelry. A grin quirked over her face. No way was anyone going to believe she hadn’t stolen this.

    --

    Frisk slipped quietly between the houses, darting around fences and through courtyards only halting at the back alley of the village orphanage. It was a tiny ramshackle place at the far end of town so as to be unseen by the more desirable type of person. Frisk wrinkled her nose at the sour stench that greeted her. She hates it here.

    It takes her no time at all to find the loose stones on the rear garden wall and Frisk scrambles up. Her feet make a soft thud on the unkempt dirt. She froze, crouched to the ground like a panther, waiting. When none breathed a sound, Frisk slipped slowly forward, hooking the door handle lightly with her fingers and lifting it up slightly so that the aged hinges wouldn’t shriek. Her feet padded mutely over the dirty wood floor, past the kitchen with walls so stained by soot that they were blackened and yellow. She paused a moment to glance at the unwashed counters, her stomach protesting the emptiness that her activities had caused. Of course there was no food left out for her. There never was.

    She carried on, not caring for the house mother's negligence. Frisk waited with stifled breath by the Master’s door. It would be worse if she were caught for he was often drunk and enjoyed seeing her in pain. When she was certain of his low-throated snores she stole quickly by and took the steps two at a time. Each jump a short, weightless glide so the aged, rotting wood didn’t groan.

    One of the oldest boys sat on the top step, glaring at her. He had a small brother in the room just beyond. Her room. Whenever a child was ill, they were place at the first room, or in her case because she was an undesirable, loathed child. The ginger haired youth pulled his hood down lower as she shifted by him. She gave the one bed up for the fevered child, looking at him with no small measure of sympathy from the door.

    She felt, in her very soul, that someone should be there to care for this little child. He was a handful of years younger than herself. His brother stood behind her as she walked into the room and knelt by the bed’s head. She could feel the poor quacking boy’s sick heat from here.

    Frisk clasped her hands and prayed silently.

    “It’s pointless to do that you know.” The older boy grouced. “If the gods even exists they ain’t gonna listen to demon scum like you.”

    She stopped the flinch from blooming over her face, quashing down the stab of anger in her heart. “The gods are real,” her whisper caught a gasp from the boy. “And I am no demon.” The sick child whimpered in his fitful sleep and Frisk just wanted to help somehow. The necklace pulsed softly against her collarbone, tingling down into a golden sheen about her fingers. She brushed the matted mop of sweat drenched hair aside from the small boy’s forehead and murmured the lullaby softly.

    He gave a peaceful sigh and pressed into her hand, breathing more evenly. Frisk smiled gently at the child, sending a silent thank you to the heavens.

    His brother was not so calm, seizing Frisk by the hair and throwing her across the room. “What did you do to him, monster!” She cried out as he jumped on her, slamming her head into the floor. “Hu? Is that what you are, a monster? What was the glowing shit? Sorcery? You demon bitch.” He seized her throat and she gasped, trying to claw off his hands. The older brother slammed her into the floor again and kept squeezing the air out of her lungs.

    Frisk thrashed and kicked against the much larger boy, tears stinging the corner of her eyes. No! Stop! I was just trying to help him. The words would not come out and black swam over her vision. The noise would rouse the whole house, but she would be dead before anyone came. No one comes. No one ever comes.

    I have to do this myself, she thought. Striking her attacker in the ribs. It didn’t loosen his grip, only angered him more. She had to. Her wings snapped out of her back and slammed down on his sides powerfully. From his winded, pained expression, she might have broken something. Her hand burned with renewed strength as she gripped his wrists like a vice. He screamed in pain. She definitely broke at least one of his bones that time. Frisk flinched at the sound, throwing the teen back and backpedaling to the wall. She curled in on herself just trying to catch her bearings again.

    The small, sickly child woke with a start as well, crying and gazing at her in horror. It stung her soul deeply.

    Her door slammed open as the Master and house mother burst in with a few of the older children on their heels. The boy who attacked her lay bruised and batter next to the bed, struggling to breath and gripping his left arm. Frisk clapped hands over her ears and shuddered at a sound no one else could perceive; a soul cracking. The Master took one look at the situation, knuckles turning white from his grip on the lantern, and turned to Frisk. She pulled in her wings tighter, keeping his gaze.

    “Mother,” he growled, reeking heavily of booze even from where Frisk coward, “go get the switch.”

    The mother took one look at Frisk and shook. “With all due respect sir, I don’ think a stick will stop that thing in the slightest. Better we drive it out now. Was always going to turn violent, I said. But no one listens to me, do they.”

    The Master hated being questioned, but now... It seemed like Frisk would need to run. “Fine. My pistol then.”

    “Aye, sir.”

    Frisk didn’t wait for the House mother to come back, she ran. Shot straight out the window and onto the slanted roof, slid to the ground and made a mad dash for the garden wall.

    “That’s it! Keep running. It makes the shootin’ more fun.”

    BLAM!

    A shot whizzed just past her ear, burning some hair as it flew. Frisk tucked her wings tightly against her back and vaulted over the wall after two more close shots. One stuck the stone just after her foot had left, yet still managed to sheath some shrapnel into her heel. Frisk bit down on her pained scream, adrenaline rushing through her limbs as she staggered on.

    The pistol report had roused several of the villagers, she could see the lights flickering on as she ran blindly through the town centre. Get to the wood. If she could just get to the woods they wouldn’t follow her. To the forest. To the trees. Her wings spread in the rush of her thoughts, as if to carry her forward and upward. But they were broken. She was weak. Every step dug into her ripped shoe and wounded foot. Tears cascaded down her face and she furiously blinked them away just to see.

    See... See a boy, no older than she was scoop a stone off the walk and hurl it at her. He stuck her in the temple and she stumbled but did not fall. Warm liquid poured down the side of her brow and onto her neck. A deafening crack of thunder echoed when the drops touched ground. Another stone stuck her right wing with a sickening crunch. Her voice was stolen in a soundless scream and she drop like the stone that struck her. It hurt. It hurt so much. What had once been shriveled and deformed from disuse now hung haphazardly halfway up from her shoulder. The light crackled and sparked at the wounds edge as if it bled. A broken wing.

    Frisk screamed a horrible sobbing sound, stripping her throat raw at the immortal hurt. The boy cheered and picked up another stone. More of the townsfolk had gathered in scorn and fear to gawk at her. They too picked up stones, throwing them as Frisk struggled to her feet.

    Her wings pulled in as she clutched her necklace and screamed to the distant stars, praying her plight would reach the heavens. The master finally arrived, stones were halted as all eyes turned towards the man. Frisk, bloody, bruised, and damn near broken looked at him with benign hurt. The older brother pushed into the circle as well, still cradling his arms and spat at her. “You should go after your heavens friends! Nobody wants you here; you or your damn gods, monster!”

    All adults in the circle murmured agreement while the children took boldness from the teen’s example. Frisk did not move as another stone struck her in the shoulder, the sharp edge cutting open a jagged line on her arm. The gold band around her neck burned with a white hot fury that did nothing to harm the wearer, but the humans pressed back still. Except for the Master who raised his gun.

    Frisk looked him in the eye with a cold expression, aware of the soft whisper in the back of her mind telling her every horrible thing she could do to him, because she had the power to do it. These... insects that dared hurt her could pay so dearly. What could they do against her if she was a god.

    That thought jarred Frisk enough. Her fingers clenched tighter around the magic at her throat. She prayed one word, one deep, desperate wish. “Help.”

    “No one is going to help you, demon.” One of the adults snapped. She was a caring, loving mother of three.

    “Please.”

    “Hurry up and shoot that thing!” shouted a man.

    “I can’t do this alone.” Her eyes swam with tears and she shut them, bracing for a painful death.

    “Yeah kill it! Feed it to the dogs!”

    Stones were thrown again, a gun report sounded. Frisk felt... nothing. When she opened her eyes a large golden shield, pulsing like a heartbeat, had formed around her. Nothing the humans threw could pierce it. It was shaped like wings, a bird... A massive golden hawk. The magic flowed from the jewels at her throat, fading back into the craft. All the humans stood there, slack jawed. They could call her demon, monster, thing if they wanted, but no human dared damn that magic. It was beyond them.

    The mayor staggered through the swell of humans and teetered over to Frisk. She flinched, expecting the worst. But the old man leaned forward on his cane and spoke to her in a low voice. “Get out,” he said, “and take your gods with you.”

    Frisk sucked in a sob, not wanting to shed anymore tears over these people.

    The elderly man had large sad eyes, he whispered to her “gods bless you, and keep you, beloved child.” She stared at him in confusion, and he made a show of striking her with his cane, barking “Go! Get out of here!”

    The blows were soft, she hardly felt them but ran none the less. Children who didn’t know any fear of the gods still hurled stones as she fled into the woods. The Master tried to shoot her again, splintering a tree far too close to her head.

    Frisk ran, even as the blood seeped out of her, she ran. And ran. And ran. She ran until she could move no longer and fell into the long grasses, held in the knotted roots of a weeping willow. She lay there, panting and bleeding and crying as the soft fern-like tips brushed her back. The wind made a sound like whispers through the trees. They all cried with her, stroking and soothing her. A brook whimpered along the stoney bed and thirst stuck her throat.

    She clawed forward, a wounded animal, to drink the chilled mountain waters.

    “Are you okay?”

    Frisk froze, every muscle tensed to run or fight, that is until she laid eye on the voice’s source. It was a boy, her own age and dressed like a wealthy traveler in forest green shades; his eyes, like hers, were a soft velvety red. She often kept her gaze down because humans were unsettled by her eyes. Most distinguishable about this child was his fur, short, white, and pristine. His muzzle held a warm smile and his ears framed his face with a soft, fluffy quality. Two little horns just poked out of his fur.

    Frisk struggled to a seated position as the goat-creature approached. His eyes darted over her and his brow dipped in concern. “Your wing... It’s...”

    She placed a hand on the wounded appendage, drawing it closer to her chest. She looked at him again, studying the features, the distinct inhuman quality he exuded. It clicked in her mind suddenly. “You’re a god.”

    He smiled sheepishly. “That I am, or I was.” He moved over to her side, gingerly pressing his soft padded hands to the glow. “I can fix this for you, but it’s going to hurt. Like popping a joint back in.”

    Frisk sucked in a breath, detecting the odor of flowers wafting from his snow white fur and gave a sharp nod, determination burning in her eyes.

    “Okay,” his hands glowed green slightly. “On three.”

    Frisk noded once more

    “One... Three!” Snap!

    She bit down on the scream that forced its way out of her throat. The pain subsided quickly. Like pulling old teeth. The young goat god set about preening her wings and Frisk felt the green glow of his magic pooling warmly in her chest. The warmth trickled out to her injuries, stitching cuts closed and lessening the aching bruises. The worst of it was the stone shard in her heel. It pushed out at a fiery crawl while her flesh knit closed behind it.

    Frisk gazed into the brooke, studying her reflection as the magic flowed through her. She looked to the god through the current only to start as he was not there. Her wings lay slacked in his lap while he work, humming that same old song she’d that morning.

    “Which god are you?”

    “Were,” he corrected blithely, smoothing a particularly stubborn feather into place. Wait, feather! Frisk angled her head to look at his work. At the brush of his fingers, her wings grew defined and shapely, though they still glowed softly. He met her gaze and sighed. “Asriel, son of Asgore, the god of Hope, Dreams, and Protector of Travelers.”

    Frisk summed him up, feeling rather odd at the formality in his soft voice. “Er, Frisk, child of none. The cursed human.”

    She flinched when he tugged a feather to hard. “Cursed!?” Indignant. Absolutely indignant.

    “Y-yes.” She mumbled, more than a little embarrassed at the outrage coming from the tiny god.

    “Frisk,” he took her hand and her guided her to recline against the willow. “You are not a cursed child. You are my child.” Her eyes widened as she stared into his. “My power is in you, as is my love. You are my very being, Frisk.” He placed his palm on her forearm and she felt something like that surge of energy, similar to before though it was not tainted by fear or pain or hate. It filled her up with... with hope. With determination.

    Her wings flexed out, brighter and stronger. These wings could carry her. When Asriel removed his hand a mark that she had seen in the subterranean chapel stood out in sharp relief on her skin. Two gold wings spread between a white rhombus. A purple triangle pointed up her arm towards the white shape, flanked by orange and blue dots. It glowed warmly against her skin and for the first time in her life Frisk felt... whole.

    She looked at Asriel with joyful tears in her eyes. Who knew that such sadness could bring such joy. She had been scorned and driven out but here was a god, standing before her, claiming her as his own. Frisk sniffled and shot forward, clinging to Asriel in a tight hug.

    He patted her head, rubbing smooth circles through her chocolate brown hair. “Frisk, there is something you must do, something only you can do. I will watch over you every step of the way but it must be you.”

    She pulled back and nodded, wiping a tear away ready to listen.

    “Follow this brooke up the mountain to where it widens, flying would be the best; there will be a ferry man there waiting to take the dead to the heavens. You have to get on his boat before midnight. He will take you up and your quest will begin. You are going to restore the hopes of every living thing above and below the sky.”

    “How do I fly?”

    Asriel smiled at her. “The lift comes from your soul, Frisk. You must will yourself to fly, then it will simply be as you willed it.”

    Frisk looked at the stones beneath her feet. Nervous did not begin to cut it. But... she trusted Asriel. He would not lie to her. He strengthened her wings. He promised to be with her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, finding that feeling of when she ran unhindered through the forest. Her wings stretched and arched. Follow the stream. Asriel believes in you.

    Frisk was filled with determination.

    One powerful downstroke plucked her into the air and her eyes snapped open, alarmed by the height. She was aloft and hovering with each flap. She didn’t even need to think about it, it was just like running. Free and exhilarating and natural!

    “Yeah, Frisk!” Asriel shouted and cheered from the ground. “Go on ahead, I will guide your steps.”

    She grinned; seeing the world from so high up was dizzying and terrifying. Though she would never fall. With a strong flap, Frisk angled herself and set to gliding along the stream, dipping down below the treeline to tease her fingers in the current. She shot back into the sky, feeling the rush in her soul as she danced and flipped.

    Frisk almost missed the darkly hooded figure hovering in a boat over the mirror still water. She dropped onto the ground somewhat roughly and tucked her wings against her back. The Ferryman stared at her from beneath his robe cowl. “Ah, um.” Frisk edged closer, feeling a chill crawl up her spine. “I was told, you could take me to the heavens.”

    The Riverperson stared deeper and shook his head.

    “But I was sent on a quest. I- I have to get there.” Frisk insisted.

    Still the Riverperson stared at her. “I bring only the dead.”

    “Surely there is another way then?”

    He shook his shadowed head. “All the gates to heaven have been sealed. Only I.”

    “Asriel told me-”

    “Asriel?” The Riverperson narrowed his eyes at her.

    Frisk shook slightly, feeling the weight of whom she was speaking to. “Yes, this is his mark,” she showed her forearm, “and he r-restored my w-wings.”

    “Hmm...” He lifted a pale and twisted hand from under his robe to stroke his chin.

    “W-will that be e-enough?”

    “I ferry the dead, child,” Frisk lowered her head. Not even ten minutes and she had already failed. “You are the vessel of dead Hope. That is good enough for me.”

    Her eyes shot up as the Riverperon adjusted his rod in the current. “R-really?”

    “Hop on before I change my mind, human.”

    Frisk did not need to be told twice, clambering into the boat and taking a seat. They rested in the water a few minutes more before the Riverperson straightened up. “Just one then.” He struck his rod into the stream and pushed off. The entire boat lifted into the night sky, ripples of stardust forming the wake as clouds pulled in around the wood. Frisk gripped the sides in a brief panic.

    The Riverperson laughed softly, “Do not worry human, you will not fall.”

    Frisk noded sharply, gazing down over the side. The starlight flowed in thick blue shades, casting glowing splashes up the sides. She slipped her hand into the current and marveled at the tickling feeling of magic against her palm. It was cool and smooth like water.

    “I can take you to the judgment hall, but no farther.” Frisk flicked her gaze to the Riverperson’s back. He seemed tense. “There Justice will decide what to do with you.”

    “Justice?”

    “I’m sorry.” The Riverperson turned to look at Frisk over his shoulder. “I can tell you no more.”

    She swallowed the growing fear in her gut. Asriel was with her, she would be fine...right? Frisk didn’t have long to spiral into worst case scenarios. The boat bumped gently against the tiled dock and she stepped out. It was a long hall with two doors at either end. Rows of twin pillars held up a cathedral roof, shining in muted golden-orange shades. Large windows cast light beams through clouds of dust. A single high backed chair rested directly before Frisk, evenly between two pillars. She swallowed, keeping her gaze on the throne-like chair.

    Perched upon it was a skeleton, garbed in a cerulean robe. A fur trim tinted blue around the back framed the skull. Beneath the star-dappled robe the skeleton wore a nice tunic embossed with gold trim, pants tucked neatly over deep blue boots with white, light blue, and gold accents. One of the skeleton’s arms propped up its head, legs crossed casually, and a glowing blue brand marked its left eye socket.

    It felt as if the vacant sockets were fixed on her, staring. Frisk shudder slightly, approaching slowly. A broad, inhuman grin spread over the skull as two points of light winked to life in its eye sockets. Frisk jumped with a small squeak, turning back to the Riverperson for help only to see the boat departing the way it entered. She was stuck with this eerie skeleton leering at her. Frisk felt significantly less determined, wings shrinking and pressed almost painfully against her back.

    “hmn. that’s odd.”

    Her heart spead up at the deep rumble from behind her. Frisk looked over her shoulder. The skeleton had moved, legs uncrossed, and arm laying lazily over the armrest instead of supporting its now slightly tilted back head.

    “you’re still alive.” The mark around its left eye pulsed and burned. “they’re only supposed to bring the dead to me.”

    Frisk gripped her hands to her chest and turned to properly face the seated skeleton. “Y-you’re Justice?”

    “heh.” it stood, opening its arms wide. “expecting someone else, human?”

    She lowered her eyes to the checker patterned tile floor. A skeleton, judge of the dead. Death the ultimate equalizer that parsed out punishment to all. It made sense for the god over such a chapter to be bone. “No, I suppose not.” She looked back up and jumped. The skeleton was leaning in barely an inch from her and she didn’t even hear it move. Frisk blanched and took a half step back.

    “human, i know you’re here for a reason. if it’s bringing someone back to life, a parent, older sibling perhaps, i won-”

    “No!” The dark rumble in its voice frightened her. “I-I...” She clenched her hands tightly and took a deep breath. “I am here on a quest.” Her voice carried resolute, determined, and the skeleton looked at her skeptically.

    “ah a quest, not like i haven’t heard that one before.” The sarcasm was like a slap to the face of Frisk’s pride. She deflated quickly.

    “But it’s true... a god sent me.”

    The skeleton’s brow ridge shot up and the points of light in his eyes narrowed. “really?” it sounded genuinely curious and Frisk nodded vehemently. For a moment it seemed like it was staring through her. “heh.” It leaned back and considered her for a moment, pupils catching on her necklace. “i see. well, you should know, kid, we have laws up here. laws specifically on what we should do with living humans.”

    Frisk swallowed.

    The skeleton man shrugged, “but i don’t really feel like doing my job right now.” The human blinked in disbelief at what she’d just heard. Justice wasn’t going to uphold a law? Er, what? “so, i can’t judge you since, y’know, alive.” It gestured lazily at her before an unsettling grin set in its teeth, “not yet anyway.” It paced around her slowly, much like a wolf circles a rabbit. “a live human in the gods’ realm,” i- er his bony fingers slid over her wings causing an unwelcome shudder to run down her back. “that’s hilarious.” His fingers find the mark on her arm and the lights of his eyes sparked. The more Frisk studied him, the less generally terrifying he was. Creepy sure. Horribly unsettling, yes. But he seemed more like a lazy trickster than a malevolent death-bringer.

    When he stopped in front of her again and offered his hand, Frisk did not hesitate to take it.

    “sans.”

    “F-Frisk.”

    “okay, frisk,” his left eye flashed and blazed in his skull, “ **don’t let go** **.** ”

    The world rushed by in a strobing tunnel of light. She felt ripped in half, choking down a scream. Sans’ eye burned into her mind, the malstrom’s center, the calm amidst the storm. It just suddenly stopped, dark and stretching eternally in every direct. Frisk saw colors that should not exist, ears buzzing with shrieks that no mortal was meant to hear. She squeezed her eyes shut and latched onto Sans shakily.

    The horror died away into a distant buzz and Frisk gasped to fill her stifled lungs. Her legs gave out and she dropped into soft perfumes. Her eyes fluttered open. Gold filled her vision, flowers like what grew in her meadow. She cupped the familiar bloom gently, taking solace in its silky petals. The blue robes in the corner of her sight clued her in on the skeleton leaning over her.

    “the best way to start a quest is at the beginning, yeah?” His touch was gentle, smoothing over her shoulder though it still elicited a shiver from her. He pulled his hand back, a few spots of sweat dripping over his skull. Thankfully that cyan eye no longer scalded her vision, he seemed much kinder without it. “look, human. i’d appreciate you not telling anyone about my, um... shortcuts. i’m already working myself to the bone as it is. the last thing i need is more work. soo...”

    She offered her pinky finger. “Promise.”

    He studied Frisk for a good while, just gazing through her. Sans reached out his pinky and hooked it with hers. She gave Sans her best grin and it seemed like his grin softened if only slightly.

    “thanks.” He stood and brushed himself off. “well, behave yourself, okay? i’ll be watching you,” Sans turned and began walking towards a wall instead of where the passage tunnel lead out only to freeze and turn towards Frisk, “oh and kid, really can’t stress this enough; **d o n ‘ t   f u c k   u p .** have fun, kiddo.” Sans’s blue iris flashed again and he vanished in a burst of light leaving Frisk sitting bolt upright in a flower patch freaked out beyond all reason.

Seriously, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this on dA too and that might be getting updates faster so here is the table of contents;  
> http://so0that.deviantart.com/journal/A-Star-To-Rise-615393593


	3. Never Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of Never part 1 with no break in events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't go through this as many times fro mistakes. Plz let me know if ya spot something. Thanks. <3

Frisk grabbed her head and curled into a little ball on the flowers. Just above her a small golden star hovered, twinkling. She gazed at the spec of existence, feeling power ebbing from it. Her fingers lightly brushed the star and gold burst over her eyes. She shook her head to clear the blots. It... All that power just rushed into her. Odd. Her fingertips tingled and energy pulsed through her limbs.  She flinched at the light tap of something falling onto her chest. 

It was a card with the number zero embolized in gold on it. The slip depicted a figure about to walk off a cliff, eyes upturned to the heavens with open arms while a dog tried to pull him back from the edge. Frisk felt a voice from deep within her. “ _ Your journey has begun. _ ” It was almost her voice but there was something off about it. Regardless, she felt determined to complete her quest. Asriel was waiting for her and she won’t let him down!

Though the yellow blossoms on which Frisk lay clung to her hair and tunic, she managed to disentangle herself from the patch and venture in the direction of the next beam of light. This place had a peaceful feeling to it, each of her steps echoing softly back to her. Magic buzzed in the air and she took deep breaths. A giddy smile pulled at her lips and she found herself laughing in spite of Justice’s ominous warning. She, Frisk the hated, the damned, the loveless; she was here, looking upon sights and absorbing sounds that no human had ever experienced before. Breathing in the same space as literal gods of creation. 

Her awe turned into a burning itch to see it all, and Frisk flitted from one stone to the next, searching for something new to discover. The walls were lined with pillars that held up the world’s roof. Glowing channels of starlight dripped into the cave just like what the Riverperson steered his boat in. Curiosity drew Frisk toward the shimmery liquid. It felt like water against her hand and she collected a small pool in her palms.

Frisk sipped the starlight, humming with joy at the flavor. It was much like the spring water she drank from the woods only it had a sweetness that filled her soul with warmth. Frisk gasped, pleased at the taste. A lilting laugh wisped over the stones sending a chill needling up her spine. Frisk whirled around on her heels, eyes darting about to locate the source.

There, in a patch of stony soil, was a golden flower with dark, shining dots for eyes and a broad, friendly smile. “You’re new to the heavens, ain’t ya?” The strange plant winked at her.

She approached the creature with some level of hesitance. It certainly seemed nice enough. “Yes, actually. A god sent me on a quest.”

“Really? Golly, that sounds amazing. I wish I could have such an honor.” The flower danced on his stem, smiling kindly up at her. She grinned shyly back and knelt down. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Flowey, Flowey the flower. Howdy!” He stuck out a leaf to her.

“Frisk.”  She gently pinched the greenery between her pointer finger and thumb, giving it a light shake.

“Well, Frisk, someone ought to tell you how things work around here, and as your new bestest friend I will be more than happy to show you.” The world ripped into darkness around her and with a searing tug a tiny red heart appeared above her chest. She knew what it was on sight. Her soul. This creature, Flowey, had just pulled out her soul! “This is called a confrontation, it’s how we talk to one another.” The flower giggled at her distressed face, waiting for her to relax a bit before continuing. “That little red heart is your soul, it’s weak right now but~,” a ring of tiny glowing seeds appeared around the flower’s head, “with these... um... ‘friendliness pellets’, you can gain a higher LV. What is LV you ask, well it stands for LOVE of course!” 

Flowey was dancing on his stem again. She had heard that pause, and Frisk remembered what Justice told her about the heaven’s human policy. Any small measure of trust she had for the flower was entirely gone.

“Here, run around and collect as many as you can!”

When the white magic seeds flew her way, Frisk ducked and rolled, dodging out of their path.

“H-Hey you missed them.” The flower seemed nervous or perhaps annoyed. “Don’t worry we can try again.” More pellets flew at Frisk. Her wings tucked firmly to her back as she ducked and weaved out of the way. This time Flowey’s smile dropped, replaced by a glare. “You think you’re so clever, yOu IDioT!!” In an instant she was encircled by a ring of lights, sparking and burning as Flowey’s face warped into something horrible. The petals oozed and wore ragged, red sparked from his eyes. His smile pulled a tore at his rounded, little face, fang-like teeth glinting beneath the warped features. “W _ h _ **_ate_ ** **v** er,  **I** **_’ll j_ ** **u** **_s_ ** _ t k _ **_i_ ** **ll y** **_ou_ ** _ a _ **_n_ ** **d** t **a** **_ke y_ ** _ o _ u **r so** **_u_ ** _ l fo _ **r m** **_y_ ** _ se _ **_l_ ** **f.** ”

It was in a moment of instinct Frisk shot up into the air. She didn’t escape all the pellets whizzing after her, crying out as several shot through her limbs. There was no physical mark of the damage but the light of her soul flickered violently. Is this what it was like to fight a god? Was she going to die? Flowey laughed from beneath her, long thorn covered vines ripping up from the ground. They seized at her, caging her in. She wasn’t able to get enough height with the cave above her. 

Before Frisk could think of an escape, one of Flowey’s vines ripped through her wing. Frisk’s eye shot fully open and she screamed silently in agony. It hurt worse than the rock. This was a real wing, flesh and blood, not  _ just _ light. Her soul dimmed to the point of going out and she plummeted to the ground. There was a burst of flame, a wave of warmth passing over her chilled body, and then all was darkness.

She was vaguely aware of large warm arms wrapping around her frail shoulders, lifting her up into a motherly embrace. “Oh dear, a human and one so terribly young... You’re hurt... Wings?” It was a gentle voice tickling at her mind before that final slip. Her body limp, her consciousness drowned in the tranquil dark far removed from the pains in her body and soul. She was warm, safe. Frisk slept content and without a care.

... 

She jolted sharply, rushing to sit up as her back shrieked at her in protest. Everything ached dully, though not as bad as she expected from a near death experience and... that fall. The malicious flower’s grin flashed through her mind, phantom pain biting into her wing and shoulder. Frisk pulled the damaged feathery appendage into view. Aside from a slight skewing and bend to some feathers around where she had been wounded, there was not a trace of injury. The limb tingled slightly when she touched it, like the brush of magic coming from her necklace.

She explored her other injuries, the areas where those seeds had torn through her body. There were splotches of discoloration, bruising, but no blood. Her fingers danced over a soft fabric wrapped over her shoulders. Bandages. They intersected at the base of her wings, expertly tied so as not to interfere with flight, not that Frisk thought it prudent to try flying again yet. Her brow knitted into a tight line as she took stock of her surroundings. This isn’t a dungeon, it’s a child’s bedroom... or at least what she had seen of children's rooms. She never had anything so... clean before.

Toys were neatly packed into a trunk at the foot of a rather large bed. She shifted her weight, noting how the mattress wasn’t straw, but rather soft, almost like how she imagined clouds would feel. The sheets were layers of smooth silks and woven fluffy blankets. There was a motherly touch to the bedding that implied it was all hand knit. A large door, open just a crack, split warm, golden light over the orange-red carpet. A row of stuffed animals rested between the bed and the wall, each nearly as large as Frisk herself. They looked well loved despite a hint of dust on their faux fur. A wardrobe sat next to the bed with a corner lamp on the opposite side.

The lamp didn't look like anything Frisk had seen before, a small magic flame flickering within though it didn’t cast any light. There was another, similar lamp resting on a table on the opposite corner. A bookshelf and small trunk stood between the lamps next to the wardrobe.

Frisk swung her legs over the bed’s edge, noticing a small plate resting on the floor nearby. On the plate was a pie and a tiny note. “ _ You are safe here my child. Please eat and regain your strength. -Toriel _ ” The human child read over the elegant script three more times before finally acquiescing to the request. She cautiously placed the plate on her lap, taking a small bite. Rich buttery and cinnamon flavor burst over her tongue and she let out a small hum at the taste. Frisk didn’t know food could even taste this good! As she settled down to eat more the human felt the aches melt out of her body. Her wings stretched out behind her, feeling stronger and... looking a bit larger? Odd.

“Toriel’s so nice isn’t she.” Frisk jumped at the sound of Asriel’s voice. The young goat god sat cross legged on the bed next to her. He had a soft smile on his muzzle and a shine in his eyes that entranced her. She could only nod, not fully grasping how much Toriel was risking to keep her safe. “How are you feeling?”

She tested her wings and flexed a bit, really considering the root of his question. “Surprisingly well. Actually,” she took another bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully, “I don’t feel like I’ve been hurt at all?”

Asriel smiled kindly at her. “Gods’ food restores the soul, so it’s no surprise.” Frisk’s brows shot up and the young god shrugged. “Anyway, the goddess who saved you is called Toriel, Patron god of love and protector of mothers and children.”

Frisk turned to face Asriel fully, tucking her legs under her and letting her wings relax onto the smooth bed sheets. “So, she wants to help me?”

“Well, it is in the Queen’s nature.”

Frisk jolted at this, staring slack jawed at her god. “Q-Queen? She’s the Queen of the gods?!”

“Shh,” Asriel clapped a paw over Frisk’s mouth, looking only slightly annoyed. “It’s late and she’s asleep. Try not to be too loud. We don’t want her to wake up.”

When the goat deity lowered his hand Frisk splutter out some stray fur. “Why?” she whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“You can’t stay, Frisk. Just being in the heavens isn’t enough. The gods are numb to hope now. My presence  _ in _ you is not enough, not alone anyway. You have to open their hearts to humanity again Frisk. Prove to them that not all humans are bad. But you must be careful, Asgore, the Gods’ King, has a decree that demands the death of any human who makes their way into the heavens.” Asriel lowered his hands into his lap, brow creased in an unreadable expression. “Justice... it’s fortunate he’s so lazy.”

Frisk swallowed, ice thrumming through her heart. “Is... Is Toriel is in danger... because of me?”

Asriel nodded slowly, looking aggrieved at having to bear the message. Frisk didn’t know what to make of this. Toriel, she hasn’t even met her yet, but... This was the most kindness anyone has shown in her life. Letting her into their home, giving her food, bandaging her wounds? It was just so foreign to her. Frisk at least wanted to thank the goddess, but something about Asriel’s admonition of silence did not sit well with her. If she was really safe here, with the Queen of the gods, then why would she have to worry about waking her? Unless... would Toriel not  _ let _ her leave? If she couldn’t leave then she couldn’t complete Asriel’s quest. She’d let him down.

Then there was the matter of her presence being an active danger for the goddess. How could she repay someone’s kindness by putting them in harm’s way? But then, what would happen if she left? Would there be more like Flowey, gods that would attack her on sight, try to kill her? “I’ll have to fight with the gods?” The human remembered the flower again, the warped leer it bore. That sick feeling so... vile as it dragged out her soul. Panicked despair choked the air around those thorny vines.

Asriel reached forward and rested a paw on her leg. “Not necessarily. You’ll have to convince the gods, but they aren’t as numerous as heavenly creatures.” When Frisk gave him a puzzled look he went on. “So, there are only eleven gods of power, the ones who shape and govern the worlds. Myself, Toriel, Asgore, Gaster, Sans and his brother Papyrus, Grillby, Muffet, Alphys, Mettaton, and Undyne. You already have my blessing and icon.” Asriel leaned closer and tapped the necklace. “An icon is anything that has been forged by a god and infused with their power. It’s a physical marker of the blessing and protection a god has offered. Collecting them will convince the residence of heaven to trust you. When they trust you, they’ll sense me, and feel hope again.”

Frisk study the golden jeweled amulet hanging from her neck. This was Asriel’s gift to her, though she had woven it herself. Asriel’s presence was with her. She felt immensely reassured by this, clutching the stones in her tiny fist. She had a god on her side. Determination surged through Frisk’s soul. Moping and worrying would do her no good. “Well, I’d better get to it. There’s a quest to complete.” She grinned at Asriel who returned the smile.

“Oh, and that card you found, hang onto it and any others you may find. I’m not sure what they do myself, but I can feel they are important. Stay hopeful, Frisk. The world is depending on you.” Asriel’s form shimmered with golden light as he faded from existence. 

She gave a sharp nod and bounced off the bed, pie plate in hand. Frisk wanted to clean the dish at least, even if she were to leave right after. It was only polite. The human slipped out into the hall, momentarily distracted by the wall sconce flickering in shades of warm yellow light. Down the hall are more rooms, likely Toriel’s bedroom and some manner of closet. She turned to the right coming into a large entry room, a stairway descending into darkness on her right and a den ahead of her. Frisk glanced out the open front entry. Large, almost purple stone covered the walls of a tunnel. Trees grew in the quiet courtyard, seemingly trapped in a constant state of fall. The air that drifted into the house was cool, but not bitterly so. The posts for the front door hummed with magic, many ruins in a language that she couldn’t read spiderwebbed over the wood. It felt like a protective shield though. Nothing would attacker her in Toriel’s house but... what if she set foot outside?

Images of Flowey plagued her mind again, sending a shiver up her spine. Frisk glanced outside one last time, spotting another glowing star hanging lazily in the air. She swallowed and turned to explore the house further first.

The den itself was fairly spacious, a very large arm chair resting next to a fireplace that also danced with magical fire. She would have to get used to seeing magic. It seemed like it was everywhere in the heavens. On the mantel stood a lone statute. It depicted a goat-like being in a long robe, holding a child in one arm and her hand resting on the shoulder of another female, vaguely human, figure kneeling at her feet. It pulsed and glowed like embers and Frisk felt warm and safe just looking at it. Was this Toriel’s icon? The human knew they couldn't just take it, that would be defeating the purpose of collecting them. Not to mention toting around a small statue was highly impractical.

Her eyes scanned over the table and bookshelf, noting several books on snails and place setting for three. The house was filled with flowers of all kinds. Frisk’s attention caught on another little note left by a bag and sandals. “ _ I noticed how worn your shoes were and took the liberty of weaving you a new pair. I also put together a little shoulder pack for you. I know how children love to explore. Please don’t wander too far, my child, and be safe. _ ” Frisk sat down on the floor, examining her own torn shoes. That last run through the woods had pulled open a seam in the cloth bottoms. She did regret not being able to use them anymore. She had made these herself. Frisk decided to slip them into the new bag she’d been given, marveling at how it seemed to be larger on the inside.

The sandals fit her feet perfectly and felt very comfortable. The cross weave came up to just below her knees holding shape to her calves. The white cloth strips on her right leg were fairly well hidden by the silky fibrous material. She wiggled her toes, marveling in the stiff nature of proper shoes. Frisk sprang to her feet and slung the bag over her shoulder, securing it across her front. Her wings flexed and shifted, getting a feel for the bag’s weight and shape between them. Like this she still had full mobility and balance. Excellent.

The human padded into the kitchen, testing her new shoes with a grin. A large pie was still set and cooling on the stove, an intimidating iron fixture that was absolutely spotless. Frisk stared in awe at how organized everything was. Though smaller than the orphanage kitchen, there was not a speck of dust or soot anywhere. Oven mitts and other cooking tools hung at rest over the cooktop. A large device Frisk had never seen before hummed in the corner, the air felt cool around it. A water basin rested dead center of the room with a small counter space attached. If only briefly Frisk wondered where the knives were. The pie was much too large to take and with no way to obtain another slice, Frisk left it well enough alone.

She jogged silently through the house again, pausing to stare at the mantel. Words trickled into her mind, a prayer, a very, very old prayer. The elders in her village used to murmur the words in hushed, rushed whispers over anything for which they were thankful. Frisk didn’t know what the words meant but they pulled at her soul. She knelt before the roaring fireplace, gazing at the image of Toriel. It was certainly Toriel depicted in that statute, caring and loving for those children and weary mothers. She was the soul of love itself, beautiful in her very nature. Sincere, kind, and lasting. She bowed her hands and recited the prayer, feeling like every word came from her soul rather than her lips. Warmth circled her in a comforting embrace and ghosts or tears slipped from her eyes. Frisk felt a relief, a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying lifted from her. She was still afraid, but the fear felt so distant. The human knew that Love had heard her, she could feel it in the air.

Frisk rose to her feet, that lightness and protection coiling in her chest as she moved on, slowing to halt at the front door. She needed to find a light source if she wanted to explore the basement, and taking a stick from the fireplace didn’t seem wise. 

The star flickered there, taunting her. Frisk wondered if she could somehow harness that power or light. It would make exploring much easier. With a quick glance around she ducked out of the house and reached for the light. Just as before, the energy shot up her arm and the glow vanished. She gave an irritated huff. Well she was outside now, might as well keep going.

The central yard was large, a gnarled old tree centered for decor. All the leaves that dusted over the stone path were hues of burnt amber and reds. Frisk swallowed down her fears, clutching the pendant again and rushed forward. She skirted the tree, holding her wings stiffly to her back. There was a slight narrowing of the passage and Frisk felt like she had walked through something not quite solid. Runes pulsed on either side, a separate ward for her yard too. Toriel seemed paranoid for a goddess Queen, but if she put up this many precautions who's to say they aren’t justified. No. No! She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t let her determination waver.

Frisk looked to the path ahead of her as it branched in a ‘t’ with another cavern. One look at the spikes stabbing up through the ground to her right and the human opted for the left hand tunnel. It wasn’t very long, maybe a few feet when she ran into a small frog-like creature. Her breath caught and her pulse quickened. This is another heavenly being. Was it going to attack her too? Frisk backpedaled, tripping over a stick and landing hard on her tailbone. The frog hopped forward and croaked. The human seized the stick as some pathetic extra form of protection just as her pendant began to glow.

Her world was plunged into that blackness and her shiny red soul leapt from her chest. Asriel’s icon glowed softly about her neck though, and suddenly it was clear. She had options before her, fight, act, item, or mercy. Her mind, or soul rather, flipped through these options, time felt somewhat suspended. This is a confrontation, a conversation. Frisk chose to act, though somewhat unsure of herself, and complemented the creature- er Froggit?- on how cute it was. Now that she really did look at the ... Froggit it did seem adorable. Large shiny eyes, tiny little feet, and while it didn’t seem to understand her, it blushed anyway. Frisk may have confused the Froggit, but she had not gained its trust yet. The heavenly creature’s body shimmer white and it leapt at her. She side stepped as best she could, very nearly getting hit a few times. 

Frisk, despite the racing fear in her limbs, kept complimenting and flirting with the Froggit. Never had such honeyed words gotten her anywhere. Humans took one look at her soft red eyes, knew her as a demon, and closed off their hearts in disgust. But not this little creature -so maybe little isn’t the best way to describe it as it was larger than she- Frisk could feel it when the Froggit opened itself to her. Something just clicked, like a song, a harmony that she was part of and it made her soul soar with joy, with even the simplest connection that had been denied her for so long.

She felt for the mercy within her heart and extended that feeling to the Froggit, guided by Asriel’s light. For a time the creature stilled, basking in the light of her soul and just... feeling hope for the first time in a very long while. It began to croak, to sing, a melody that had been forgotten to it since the war. Frisk sung to, or hummed to be totally accurate. Froggit ribbited a thanks and hopped away, renewed spring in its steps.

Color and light filtered into Frisk’s world again and she kept going. Through a door on her left a chilled draft blew. Despite what felt like a biting chill to the air, Frisk didn’t feel the least bit cold. A tingle of magic around her toes and the soft flicker caught her focus from the ground. Her sandals had lit up briefly and a warm, protective aura surrounded her shoulders like a thick sweater. Frisk laughed at the realization that her shoes might just be an icon from Toriel. Her mirth shimmered into wonderment as Frisk gazed out over an entire underground city. It... “It’s amazing.”

“You have no idea,  _ d _ **O** _ Y _ **_o_ ** **U** ?” Flowey’s voice cackled up from behind her as she once again spun to meet him. The demon flower’s face relaxed into bemused. “What, you think because you touched one monster, your suddenly invincible? Please. You’ll be dead from your own stupidity and I won’t even have to lift a petal to take your soul.”

Frisk’s grip on her stick tightened and Flowey laughed at her.

“That’s not going to do you any good, Frisk.” His laughter turned sadistic and off kilter, face splitting and oozing again. “Here,” he purred, “use this instead.” A tiny plastic knife was thrown at her feet. It didn’t have an edge, how could that be better than a stick? At least the stick could be used as a club. 

“Or don’t.” Flowey’s face was back to normal but kept an annoyed cast to it. “Either way, you should hang onto it. Never know what might come in handy. Well, I’ll see you soon, Frisk. Just remember, in this world it’s kill or be killed. Toodles~!” Flowey disappeared into the ground, his ominous turn of phrase itching through the back of her mind far more than she wanted to admit. She wanted to trust that everything would  turn out alright. She really wanted to trust that Asriel would protect her, but... at the same time she didn’t know if she could fully trust anything or anyone. Survival had been predicated on not giving others a chance to hurt her. Frisk stared at the toy knife for a long time.

She stooped down and shoved it into her pack, not wanting to touch it for too long.

The human didn’t want to dwell on that action, it made her feel dirty on the inside though she didn’t really know why. Not trusting people was normal for her, so how was this any different.  _ Because they’re gods. _ Yes but that didn’t mean they were infallible. Sans being the only one you really had a chance to meet so far was living proof of that. Justice, lazy. The flaws were very apparent.  _ Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s weak or untrustworthy. His laziness might have just been kindness in disguise. After all, he should have killed you. _

Frisk shook her head as she proceeded towards the dreaded left corridor. This internal debate wasn’t going to solve her problems. She had to finish exploring these ruins and then find a way out. The heavens had to be larger than just one underground cavern. Right? Frisk hummed nervously. There was enough space that she could give herself a lift off jump to clear the spikes just fine. That didn’t stop her from worrying about their presence altogether but at least she wouldn’t get herself hurt.

The halls she walked through had more spikes in them, looping around and headed down? Yes, the passages sloped down very gradually. Several pillars supported a arched roof. Various odd mushroom shaped triggers dotted the rooms. Frisk didn’t really know what they did so refrained from touching them. She laced her fingers through the straps on her front and played with the hem of her tunic. It was eerily quiet here. 

The human did run into a few more ‘monsters’ but most were other Froggits and a few other bizarre but ultimately harmless creatures. She was frightened at first, but the encounters soon fell into a routine with her. With a little bit of trial and error she discovered how to handle them and drawing out that power to show mercy didn’t require so much concentration. It was almost natural for Frisk though the glow from her neck never let her forget the hope’s true source.

Eventually she made it all the way back to the place Justice brought her to. To the ‘beginning’. Her blood still stained the ground here, a shudder running up her spine as her wings clenched painfully. Her breathing somewhat ragged, Frisk turned back, almost racing over herself to get away from that place. The air here suddenly felt heavy, thick. It made her gasp for air and the weight that had been lifted in her time of prayer slammed back onto her shoulders. I-It.. it’s too much, she can hardly keep going. Despair that came from without seized at her legs and throat. 

“ _ You shouldn’t linger here. _ ” It was the voice again. Her voice but... not. Distorted, dark, and so... lonely. It made Frisk’s soul ache with empathy, with the desire to comfort them. Something like laughter echoed in her mind, though if it was really just in mind, the human wasn’t sure.

She reached a split staircase, another star pulsing warmly at the bottom. Without even thinking, Frisk reached for the power it contained, elating in the shadows burning away from her soul. She knew what this point of light was. Determination, something her soul could latch onto. A anchor in the veil.

Frisk moved on, not wanting to linger any more than she must. Her feet carry her swiftly back through the ruins, touching every star she passed. At one point Frisk poked her head into an antechamber at the end of a long hall. A bowl full of candy rested on a pedestal at the room’s center with a sign reading ‘Take One’. Remembering what Asriel had told her about gods’ food, she plucked a piece from the pile, only briefly tempted to take more. She put the candy in her bag and continued back to Toriel’s home. 

After reaching a small table with cheese resting on it, noting a mouse hole in a nearby wall, Frisk smiled, feeling another rush of magic coursing up her arm from a tiny star. She couldn’t help but picture the rodent, victoriously toting the cheese back into his home. Her grin broadened at the thought of how close she was to getting home. ... Home? When did she start thinking of Toriel’s house as her home?

Her musings were abruptly ended by a spectral figure lying over the path. While she could always fly over them that felt rude. Instead Frisk knelt down to examine the ghost. “E-excuse me?”

“ZZZzzzZZZzzz” He was feigning sleep.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ghost, but I need to get by please.”

Ever so slowly the phantom opened an eye to stare at her. “You’re a human?”

“Y-yes?”

“Oooh nooo.” He moaned rather pathetically. “I-I’m sorry. Asking that was so rude. I understand if you never want to see me again. I’m so sorry.”

The child was more than a little taken aback by the suddenly weepy nature of this ‘monster’. Noting that he also kept crying while he spoke. It tugged her heart strings to be totally honest. “No, it’s fine. Really, please stop apologizing.” Frisk moved forward, holding her arms around the ghostly figure, not able to touch him but acting out a hug. She hummed her hopeful song and made soft shushing sounds.

If only for a moment the ghost’s form flushed into something solid and more-or-less human in shape. In that flash of substance, Frisk caught the hidden glory that this heavenly creature held. Perhaps creature was not the right word for this either. He was more a lesser god. Frisk pulled back and smiled warmly at him. “I like you, so please don’t apologize.”

Was he... blushing. Oh he was.

“D-does that mean w-we’re f-friends?” Oh Frisk just wanted to hug him again.

“Absolutely.” She nodded, tossing her cropped brown locks. 

The ghost smiled shyly and scooted over in the leaves. Laying down again. Frisk moved to join him, hesitating as the plants shifted and seemed to fall. It still supported her weight just fine. Once she got settled, Frisk’s eyes drifted shut. Something about him made her feel comfortable and she found herself striking up a conversation of nothing of any consequence. His name is Napstablook and he’s a muse. She if Frisk, the human on a god’s quest.

Without really meaning to she began to spill everything that happened from the beginning of her quest, to meeting Justice, to Flowey, her own doubts and fears. It just... slipped out as if she was compelled to speak. Napstablook remained quiet through her entire tale, finally speaking of his coming to the Ruins to be alone, to think. He even spoke of his cousin, the god of revelry, Mettaton and how much he missed him.

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“I-I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Naps, you won’t be a bother. You’re his cousin and a fellow god. He sounds like the type to get caught up in moment and he’ll need someone to keep him grounded.” At some point Frisk’s hand wound up palm up with a ghostly nub-like hand resting just above her skin.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” She nodded sharply, the leaves rustling lightly and getting tangled in her hair.

“T-Thank you, Frisk.”

Her soul glowed brighter at the companionship she’d been able to develop in such a short time.

“I-I want to... um...p-play a song for you.” They both sat up and Napstablook formed a harp out of light. His magic danced over the instrument, sending the silvery string into choral tones. The tempo was neither slow, nor terribly fast, It felt... sad. Old words came to mind as the chorus picked up the rhythm. Frisk sang, long slow syllables that tore her heart to weeping. She didn’t know what she was saying, but much like the prayer, she could feel every note thrumming from her soul. It is a funeral march of some kind. An odic epithet. The death of Hope.

Frisk knew why this moved her now, even seeing phantom tears in Napstablook’s eyes. She closed her own out of necessity. Her soul was crying, no need for her voice to be taken by the shared sorrow too.

The song ended and they were smiling through the pain. Laughter seemed about the only thing that could stave off the tears. It was much how she had been in the orphanage, only... less lonesome. “You’re really good at composition, Naps.”

“You’re a really good singer, Frisk.”

“I-Is this all there is? The Ruins? You made it sound like there are more places than this.”

“There are, but Queen Toriel’s home rests over the entrance to the rest of the heavens. She used to be the guardian of the gate further out, but ever since that’s been sealed her purpose here has been helping the well off monsters.”

There was that word again. ‘Monsters’. It seemed so degrading. So... fallen. But, wasn’t that what these heavenly creature are? Fallen?

“Thank you for spending time with me, Naps. I’m going to go to Toriel’s now.”

“G-good luck. Y-you can stop by my place a-any time you want to hang out?”

“Definitely.” And she was off again with a renewed vigor in her steps. The basement of Toriel’s home is the next step in her quest; she can see that now. Darkness or no, Frisk was getting out. For Asriel. For Toriel’s safety. For Napstablook and his cousin. For all of monster kind. Frisk was filled with determination.


End file.
